A rumor had started spreading through the war camp, the humans had a necromancer. Initially commander Yrinn had chosen to ignore these reports. After all necromancy was
A: Banned
B: Impossible
And most importantly C: Probably the only reason he hadn't run out of men.
So it was in his best interests to look the other way. The humans were allies after all and accusing one of them of necromancy would risk a diplomatic incident. They might even withdraw their troops and without human help the insurrection would steamroll his forces within the week.
Still... he clicked a talon on his desk. Necromancy was banned for a reason. The priests were very clear about that, you only got one life. Even thinking about necromancy was a sin. So rather than tarnish his soul any further the commander did the best to put it out of his mind. After all, he had a civil war to win.
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"Fuck!" cursed human guardsman Mike, blood spraying out if his mouth with every horrible cough as he attempted to keep control of the vehicle. A sniper-droid laying in wait had pumped the commander's transport full of neurotoxin laced rounds. It had burrowed into the rubble and waited in low power mode for the Commander's convoy, no wonder the scans has missed it. It could have been there for months, just waiting.
Yrinn watched through the arma-glass divider in horror as the guardsman continued to somehow fight through the pain and neurotoxin, screaming profanities so vulgar that they could have etched tungsten. He drove all the way back to base cursing and bleeding.
The last thing Yrinn saw as security practically dragged him into his command bunker was Mike's lifeless body collapsed across the steering wheel. His duty finally finished.
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The human liaison seemed troubled by Yrinn's request. "I'm not sure I understand." His voice crackled with static. "I must be getting some interference."
Of course, the commander though, these humans had a different honor code. What seemed fundamental to him must be alien to them. It had been eating at him for the last week while he mustered the courage to finally do what must be done.
"A life debt." He repeated. "Human guardsman Mike gave his life protecting mine. I am honor bound to offer my condolences and any aide I can to his surviving kin."
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The human liaison shook his head. "No such guardsman has been killed in the line of duty."
"Then your records must be incomplete." Yrinn politely but firmly stated. "I saw him take three toxin laced anti-armor rounds to the chest. He's dead."
"My records show your driver as having returned to active duty after a brief stint in medical. He's fine." The liaison assured him. "Best to forget all about it."
"Thank you, I will." Yrinn lied, cutting the connection. He felt a shiver running underneath his scales, either the humans were lying to him or they didn't know. Could battlefield losses be going unreported? And if so, why?
He resolved to get to the bottom of this, his honor demanded it.
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Human medical was surprisingly quiet. The medical drones moving silently from patient to patient. There were no cries of pain, no moans of agony, just the dull hum of powered machinery.
"Guardsman Mike Moar..." The human doctor repeated as he typed on his tablet. His thin fingers looking like bones as they danced across the screen. "I remember that one, it was a pretty straightforward operation. No major complications... looks like he returned to duty the next day."
Yrinn remembered the blood seeping out from underneath the driver's side door and pooling beneath the transport like oil from a busted seal. "I find that unlikely. Nothing can lose that much blood and still live."
The doctor shrugged. "Humans are tougher than we look and over the centuries we've developed extremely efficient combat medicine. I'm not a specialist in xenobiology but from what I've seen we're a lot harder to kill than most. Still, the resurrection trauma will probably affect him, possibly for the rest of his life."
Yrinn couldn't help but look confused. "Resurrection trauma?"
"From his perspective, guardsman Mike Moar died. He was shot, poisoned, and fought to get back to base only to bleed to death. He made peace with dying, as all dying men do, then woke up fully healed in the recovery bay. That kind of traumatic experience is not something we can fix, or rather we could, but it would cause even worse problems down the line."
The commander recoiled in horror. The rumors were true, these humans really were practicing necromancy. "So he died, and you brought him back?" This was blasphemy. This was evil.
"No." The doctor corrected. "When his heart stopped beating his cortical tourniquet activated, sedating him to prevent further mental trauma while providing artificially oxygenated blood to the brain. Effectively putting him into a state of torpor."
"So, not dead." Yrinn said uneasily.
"No, but from his perspective it must have seemed like dying. He will undergo counseling and observation, probably be rotated out early. We have resources and a support network that will help him if he needs it." The doctor made an awkward noise with his throat. "If that will be all, I've got other patients that need attention."
That was when Yrinn truly understood the silent horror that was unfolding around him. Each of the patients was another almost corpse, another soldier that had been snatched back from the jaws of death. Resurrected to fight another day, each time gathering new wounds that would linger even as the machines repaired their flesh.
No glory or death would come to release them. They would die, again and again, suffering and clinging onto life, experiencing the traumas and horrors of war to their full extent.
His hand went to the scar tissue on the back of his neck. The humans had explained it was a medical device, but not exactly how it worked. Now he understood the full horror of what awaited him. The endless cycle of death and rebirth, here in the den of the necromancers.